The Ice Princess
by shiara the witch
Summary: This is my first attempt at a longer story, so don't be to harsh on me. Gwenieda is a beautiful princess who is cool and aloof, earning her the title of the ice princess. Then she meets Branden who threatens her whole world. I did some slight revising.
1. prologue

Prologue  
  
White snow lay on the cold ground. The rose bushes that were usually covered in blossom were barren and black. Most people would have found the landscape bleak and colorless, but Thalia found it beautiful. She gazed out at it, mesmerized. Ever since the stillbirth of her child she had not been allowed near a window. Her husband feared the cool air was not good for her fragile health. Today he had finally relented, but insisted the window remain shut tight.  
  
She laid her forehead against the cool glass, her breath forming a misty stain. This had been her third unsuccessful birthing, and the doctors and her husband both thought that it would be unwise of her to try again. Despite his repeated insistence that her health was more important than a child, the king had been unable to keep the yearning out of his eyes. If it was only to please her dear husband, then Thalia might have given up her fight to have a child, but she too wanted a beautiful baby of her own with all of her heart.  
  
Thalia sat up straight. She refused to let her mind dwell on such impossible dreams. Instead she pushed open the window and breathed in the fresh scent of new snow. So focused on its beauty was she that she did not even realize that she reached out her hand in longing. She was brought back to earth when the branch of a rose bush pierced her finger, and three drops of her blood fell onto the snow.  
Thalia sucked on her wounded finger and gazed at where her blood had fallen. An image of a beautiful baby with skin as white as the snow, hair as black as the wood on the rose bush, and lips as red as her blood formed in her mind. Thalia moaned. Everything, even thorn bushes and drops of blood, brought her thoughts back to wanting a child. Once again, she closed off from the world as the room around her started to blur with tears.  
  
She did not even notice the little man who appeared behind her in a wind of ice. Apparently, he was not used to being overlooked, for he frowned. He cleared his throat several times.  
  
Thalia turned around to face the intruder. As soon as Thalia saw whom it was she jumped slightly in her chair. The little man smiled, pleased that he had now caught Thalia's attention. He bowed so low that his nose brushed the ground. Then he sprang up and sauntered over to Thalia. Even though limped slightly he still managed to appear haughty. Thalia was frozen where she sat.  
  
He was absolutely hideous. His features were so distorted that they hardly looked human. The only pleasing feature on his face were his eyes. They were purple, and sparkled with wisdom and age. Oblivious to her horror, he grinned and revealed a set of rotting black teeth.  
  
"Why the tears, my good lady?" he asked.  
  
"E...Excuse me?"  
  
"Well, you were crying, were you not? When beautiful women are in need, I am never far. He bent over and took Thalia's small white hand in his own stubby brown one and brought it to his lips. It took all of the will power and good breeding Thalia possessed not to snatch her hand back and wipe it on her gown. Instead she smiled graciously.  
  
"Could my lady's distress come from her lack of a child?" He grinned and his eyes sparkled wickedly.  
  
Thalia found the little man's astuteness unnerving. She blinked several times. If he had not spoken again she would have bolted to the door.  
  
"I might have a solution to your dilemma. You see, I specialize in such matters and am willing to grant your wish. For a price, of course."  
  
Thalia's eyes lit up and briefly she looked hopeful, but then his last words sank in and she became suspicious.  
  
"What kind of price?"  
  
"Why, nothing too much, I can assure you. I would never ask for anything you couldn't give." The sly glint in his eyes belied his sincere tone.  
  
This should have warned her. He had not told her the price yet. Instinct told her not to accept his offer with out knowledge of what she would have to pay in return.  
  
Instead she said, "Prove to me that you can do as you say. How do I know that you truly can do magic?"  
  
Again he bowed and stepped back from Thalia. With a flourish of his wrist a faint twinkling started above his open hand. Little balls of light came together and slowly formed a pattern. A beautiful baby appeared. She was wrapped in a thin layer of silk, which was clutched between her chubby fingers. Dark lashes shadowed her ivory skin. In her sleep she cooed softly between her rose bud lips.  
  
Thalia gasped. It was the child of her dreams. She walked over to the display of perfection and held out her arms to hold her. Just as Thalia's fingers reached out the image vanished. Revealing once again the leering dwarf. Hastily she dropped her hand and regained her composure. She must have done so better than she thought because the dwarf embellished his offer.  
  
"Because I am such a generous man, and I wish only for you to be happy, I am willing to give your child something that you would never be able to give it without me."  
  
He hobbled over to the window that Thalia had recently been sitting next to. He peered out and if the circumstances had been different he would have looked quite comical with his nose only barely coming to the windowsill.  
  
"You admire the snow. A trait I share. I will make your child a child of the snow. As long as she lives and there is snow somewhere in the world, she will never grow cold. And, like the snow, she will be dazzlingly beautiful to all those who appreciate her." For the first time the little man looked truly sincere and it brought a ray of hope into Thalia's heart. Soon the ray enveloped her entire body, bringing her a comfort she had not felt in years.  
  
Before she could change her mind, Thalia accepted the dwarf's offer and shook his hand. Whatever the price was, it was well worth a child. Especially a child of the snow.  
  
***  
  
Basil gazed down at the tiny being in his arms. A newborn baby. His newborn baby. All his life he had dreamt of this moment. Of when his beautiful wife would hand her child to him for the first time. Always in his dream he felt a whirlwind of feelings when he first saw his baby. Awe, pride, love, and maybe a little bit of fear. But never in his dream did he feel as he felt now, regret. Regret that in order to bring this beautiful being into the world his beloved wife, his queen, his Thalia, had to give her life. No matter what he had said she was determined to have a child. And she did. A beautiful healthy child that should have brought joy and laughter to the house. Instead it had brought death and tears.  
  
He would not be the sole person that felt her loss. She was a beloved queen that the people loved. However, they would get over her loss, Basil never would.  
  
With a sigh he laid the baby down into the ornate crib that had been crafted by the best carvers in the kingdom. She was so tiny that she seemed to disappear in the mounds of blankets that surrounded her. Really, she was a very beautiful baby. Already she had black fuzz on her head that promised to soon grow into dark curls. Her ivory skin was just as devoid of color as the bleached sheets that surrounded her. She had lips that put rosebuds to shame with their delicate beauty, and eyes an odd lavender color. It was not her fault that her mother had died giving birth to her, and Basil knew that he should not blame the child for something she would not even remember. But he could not help feeling a slight resentment toward the baby that had unknowingly stolen away from him the only woman he could ever love.  
  
Thalia's last wish was for him to love their child, love her and name her Gweneida, Snow White. 


	2. chapter 1

I made some small revisions to this chapter because it didn't seem quite right, nothing big though.  
  
Basil walked into his chamber. While her nurse was away, Gweneida had snuck up into his room. She sat on his favorite chair awaiting his arrival. She was seven at the time and small for her age. Her feet were too short to reach the floor, and she swung them as she gazed about her in wonder, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Even though she had make an obvious attempt to tame her hair and smooth her gown, both were in disarray. Basil stared at her. Never before had she come into his room alone, though several times a nurse had brought her in demanding Basil punish her for some mischief.  
  
Once she noticed his presence, her face lit up. She stood up and gave his legs a tight hug. "Hi Papa! I've been waiting for you forever! You will never guess what happened today." He had been too shocked to answer, just gaping and his child. "I rode a horse! A huge horse named Daisy. Isn't that exciting Papa? Isn't it?"  
  
Basil had no idea what he should say to her. He nodded and pondered what to do with her.  
  
"I fell off Daisy though. It hurt and I wanted to go play, but nurse said that you would want me to get back on. So it did! Are you proud of me Papa?" Her purple eyes filled with hope. Eyes that were in a face identical to Thalia's  
  
Basil knew he had to get her out. He turned her toward the door "That is nice. But your father is busy." She protested and clung to his shirt, but was unable to thwart his will. With a trembling lip and eyes filling with water she dashed away.  
  
Once she was gone he slumped down, shaking. He had not been in such close contact with his daughter since she was a baby. If only Gweneida did not look so much like her mother, then maybe he could stand to be in the same room with her. But she resembled Thalia; matching except for their colorations.  
  
He would always miss his wife. As the years passed, the pain of losing her was no longer so sharp. But it was still there, dulled but persistent. He had never considered remarrying. He did not need a male heir. Gweneida would make a fine queen; after all, the people loved her as much as they had her mother. There was no reason for a new wife.  
  
That night Basil was unable to fall asleep. For hours he tossed and turned. Just as he was about to give up his attempt to rest, an angel walked in. She had to be an angel, why else would she appear in a cloud of blue sparkles. She was beautiful. Her flaxen hair was long and silky, her pale blue eyes fringed with long pale lashes. Not a single freckle marred her fair skin, nor a wrinkle.  
  
He was enchanted with her and walked up to her, clothed in nothing but a shirt. Without hesitation he touched her. Then kissed her. She did not protest. The intoxicating hours with her were the only ones he could forget Thalia. Soon he decided he could not live without her. He wanted her every night. Wanted to be in her presence every day. They were married. Few nights after their wedding did he get to experience that drunkenness again.  
  
***  
  
All Faenach's life, she had been mocked, living on the streets and begging for food. She was always hungry. Always cold. Sometimes she was forced to steal, but she preferred that to begging. Until she turned thirteen, and started selling her body. Her beauty came to good use then, and ever since she had been grateful for it. Without her beauty she would be nothing. Night after night she let herself be degraded, swearing that one day she would have revenge.  
  
Her luck turned when the aging wizard came to her for service.  
  
"Time ta pay up old man. Two bronze pieces, or half a silver piece." Faenach had told him.  
  
Instead of getting out his wallet, which was full, Faenach noticed with envy, he turned toward her and looked at her curiously. This did not surprise Faenach. Many men tried to get out of paying. After the first one got away with not paying for her services, Faenach never let another go. She insisting on pay first, unless the client was of higher class than usual, because she could not risk loosing him to another of her trade.  
  
"You better pay, old man. I ain't afraid of ye! Either ye pay, or ye suffer the consequences."  
  
Instead of backing down (she could be very intimidating when she liked), as most of the others did, he smiled. "I do mean to pay you, my dear, but not in coins. What do you say to coming to my house and becoming my mistress? I get you whenever I want, and in return you get to live in my home. Also you will be the one who is served, instead of the one serving," he said in a cultured tone.  
  
Faenach looked at the wizard through narrowed eyes. If the man was serious, the offer was an opportunity to get off the streets that she might never get again, but if not, she would not get paid for her evening of work. Still, it was worth the risk. Anything was worth the chance to get revenge. "A'right, you got yer self a deal. But if ye break yer promise yel be sorry."  
  
That night she slept in a four-post bed instead of the cold ground. And for supper she ate a hot, filling meal, instead of scraps from the trash. Faenach did not regret her decision. She put up with the wizard at night, and during the day she watched him at his work through cracked doors and open windows.  
  
One day he caught her spying. But instead of sending her away, he invited her in and explained what he was doing. She became his unofficial apprentice.  
  
Faenach thrived on the tidbits of magical knowledge she learned, and became more and more powerful. And closer and closer to revenge. When he gave her the mirror, it proved her worth.  
  
In preparation for the spirit conjuring, the room had been made pitch black, all the door cracks covered, and all the windows draped. Then she had started to chant. The candles that were arranged around her burst into flame, revealing a dim purple mist that was beginning to take shape. Slowly the spirit solidified. And before the spirit could refuse, Faenach had forced it into the mirror, trapping it there for as long as she pleased.  
  
Her first demand was for the mirror to show her the king. To get revenge on all of the people who wronged her Faenach would need political power and money, not just magic. She would need to become queen.  
  
For months she watched the king. She sat before her mirror hours at a time. Soon she knew him better than he knew himself. Knew his weaknesses, knew his strengths, knew how to become his queen. For the last time Faenach would have to sell her body, but this time she would get a lot more than a few coins  
  
***  
  
Nothing changed after the wedding. Gweneida had hoped that having a mother would make her father love her. At night she would lay in bed imagining her new mother hugging her and kissing her. Although Gweneida never saw her face she imagined it to be lovely and kind.  
  
Her every hope of a family was dashed as soon as she saw the new queen. Indeed she was lovely, the most Gweneida had seen in her life. But she was not kind. Gweneida could sense her dislike as soon as the cold blue eyes rested on her small purple ones. Even though a smile was plastered onto her face it never reached her eyes. Those eyes took in the loose strands from Gweneida's simple bun of hair, and the almost unperceivable dirk stain on her skirt. For hours the she had stood before the mirror and attempted to dress neatly for the occasion, but as always as soon as she left her room dirt had clung to her from every direction. Even though Gweneida was not a clumsy child, she was very dirt prone.  
  
Gweneida still ran around the castle among the servants, and still did as she pleased after her father married the queen. Then one day she walked in from playing to find her stepmother standing in front of her. Faenach sniffed and looked down her nose at her. Gweneida smiled politely and tried to push passed her. Faenach stopped her by pinching the corner of her sleeve between her fingers. Toughing as little of her as possible.  
  
"You are disgusting." Faenach sneered. "How can you call yourself a princess when you look like a peasant. Go change this instant." With those few, but cruel words, she turned on her heel and left. Leaving her in the same way she would leave a out of favor servant.  
  
Tears ran down Gweneida's face, leaving clean stripes on her dirt stained cheeks. She ran up to her room, through herself on to the bed, and cried. She was not sure if her tears were ones of sadness or anger, but she suspected they were both. It took a long time for her to exhaust her store of tears. When she lifted her head, she felt better, but spent. She sniffed her nose against her sleeve and slumped out of bed. Her feet dragged over to the wardrobe. She slipped on the first dress that her hand met. Then she forced herself over to the mirror to wash.  
  
The face that looked back at her was one of a stranger. Her hair was falling out of its braid, her eyes were red and puffy. The dress she wore was too large, hanging like a bag over her small frame, and worse of all was the look of misery on her face. It was not the face of a royal princess. Just then, Faenach walked in. The first expression that crossed her face was one of annoyance, but it was quickly banished and replaced with one of apology. She drew Gweneida into a stifling hug. "Oh my dear, I am so sorry. I did not mean to be so harsh. You know that I only want the best for you. Don't you?" Faenach's voice was all sweetness and sincerity. If not for the calculating look in her eyes, Gweneida would have given in to the embrace.  
  
Instead she nodded. Somehow she found the strength to not begin a new fit of sobs. When she did not say anything, the room held a heavy silence. Faenach was the first to give in to it. She gave Gweneida a peck on the check and left.  
  
Gweneida watched her go, her eyes suddenly dry. In that moment she knew that Faenach did not want what was best for her. And that her burst of temper showed her true character, not her apology. For the first time in her life, Gweneida was scared. She trembled back to her bed and sat down. Pulling at her hair, she was taken over by a sudden wave of helplessness. She was now aware of the horror that awaited her at her stepmother's hands. There was no one to stop her. None of the servants had the power, and her father would never care enough.  
  
Just as she was about to panic a sense of coldness washed over her. The feeling was unfamiliar at first, but soon she found comfort in it. She gave into the blissful feeling of numbness and drifted away. 


	3. chapter 2

Chapter 2

            It took all of Gweneida's self control to not squirm out of the arms of her dancing partner. He was holding her closer than was proper, or necessary, and his palms were sweaty. As much as she wanted to exit the dance, the disdain she would get from Faenach, her step-mother, for being impolite would be much worse than living through the discomfort of another too eager suitor. Not that Faenach's approval mattered to her anymore. She had long ago learned trying to earn it was a fruitless quest, but the long monotonous dressing-down that she would receive for her behavior was very boring. Not just because she had heard it countless times. Despite her self-lecture it was still hard to concentrate on the intricate steps of the dance when she was trying to keep her partner at arms length.

            Just before she was about to give up and run from the prince, (whose name was Jacob or was it Henry? After meeting so many young men in one evening their names started to blur), he remembered that the ball _was _in his honor. As his guest she was supposed to give him respect. Faenach had always tried to teach Gweneida that honor was not a matter of respecting others, but of being polite. However Gweneida still had some belief in being kind to others, although she knew not where it had come from. She just tried to hide it when Faenach was around. Reluctantly she did not run from her dance partner, though several times she eyed the door.

 Gweneida was relieved when the dance was finished and she could make her escape. Because she turned her back so quickly she missed the look of desire in the prince's eyes. Throughout the dance, she had gone through a whole jumble of emotions, but she never showed any of them. She always kept her face expressionless and emotionless. She was known as the ice princess. And she lived up to her name.

***

            Across the room, a richly dressed man, named Alexander, eyed her with dark intent in his cool gray eyes. He was one of the most popular men at the ball, but Gweneida had not looked his way the entire evening. Many times he was tempted to go over to her. However the presence of the woman whom he danced with stopped him. 

The woman was of advancing years, though magic and cosmetics hid her age well. She was just as breathtaking as she was a decade ago. They made quite a pair. Although Faenach's husband was alive, she had many lovers. He was one of the most powerful and handsome men in the world, and she one of the most powerful and beautiful women. Many thought she was the most beautiful. When she saw where her companion was looking, she stiffened. And if anyone was looking close enough, they would have noticed that she was not nearly as beautiful when her face was contorted in anger.

One of the things Faenach hated most was when her men stared at her stepdaughter with more desire than when they looked at her. Not that she could blame this one, she thought. Was he not the most eligible bachelor, in whose very presence women had been known to swoon? And had her stepdaughter, Gweneida, not been the only one to refuse his advances just as coolly as she refused the others?

            Alexander was not used to failure and did not take it well. Faenach knew she had been a second choice to the fair Gweneida. That he hoped his attachment to her would help his quest to win Gweneida. Faenach would never let that happen. He was about to walk over to her when her father walked in. Behind him trailed a young man.  Alexander glared at the new competitor, but turned back to Faenach.

***

            Trying to be as invisible as possible, Gweneida stood close to the wall in the shadows behind a heavy velvet curtain. From her hidden vantage point she could better see her surroundings and for the first time that night she could admire the elegance of the room. Never before had she been to this castle, and it was very impressive.

            The ballroom was large enough to hold over two hundred people, which it now did. The long wall that was parallel to the porch consisted almost entirely of window. Each of which was covered by a pair of velvet curtains, like those she took refuge in now. On the opposite wall was a buffet of food. That was the best quality. Next to the long table there were several smaller tables as well as chairs where tired dancers (or dancers without partners) could rest. The entire room was decorated in a deep green color, with silver accents, prominently displaying the colors of the country that hosted the gathering. However, the biggest display of riches lay in the costumes of all of the guests that were now spinning across the dance floor. Each had tried to outdo the others in their outfit's beauty and complexity.

Gweneida thought that her attempt at staying hidden was working until her father scanned the room and his gaze fell on her. That would not be a problem, but behind him there was a man who was with him. Groaning, Gweneida stepped out into the light. Graciously waiting until her father and his guest arrived. It would not do at all if he caught her hiding. Ever since last year, when she had turned 15 and she had been old enough to go to social functions, her father had been throwing every possible suitor her way, hoping that she would take a fancy to one of them and marry him. At first she had thought that having so many suitors was flattering. It was nice to be complimented, when she had not been in such a long time. But soon the novelty wore off.  She found that she could not see any of the men as her future husband. Also she did not want to leave her home. Even though she was unhappy at the castle, she still loved her kingdom, and could not yet bring herself to abandon it. At that time Faenach also intervened. For some reason she did not want Gweneida to marry. Because Gweneida did not particularly like any of her suitors, she thought that arguing with Faenach was not worth the fight.            

  
            At a first glance Basil's newest potential son in law was nothing special. Not tall, or short, not terribly handsome, and his hair needed a trim. However, when he came close enough for Gweneida to see his features, she saw him in a whole new light. His bright green eyes twinkled with laughter, and his mouth was turned up into a smile that looked as if it graced his face often. And although his sandy colored hair was a little long, it looked charming on him. No, he was definitely not the most handsome man Gweneida had ever seen, but the first sight of him jolted her, like no other man had.

  
            As Brendan gazed down at the beauty he had been sent to court he was amazed. From what he had hear of Gweneida she was a beautiful girl, but very aloof. She was indeed a very beautiful girl; her long hair was slightly curly and as black as coal, and she had the fairest skin he had ever seen. However, what caught his attention about her the most were her eyes. They were a beautiful amethyst, and they were not expressionless at all, as he had been told, but full of life. He could think of no reason why she was called the ice princess. Graciously he bowed and introduced himself.

  
            "It is an honor to finally meet you, my lady. Your father has told me of your immense beauty, but no words could do it justice. My name is Sir Brendan." He then bent down and lightly kissed her offered hand. She nodded dumbly. Still staring. For a moment no one spoke.

Basil was eager to have the action start. "Brendan, I hear you are a good dancer, why don't you and Gweneida dance."

For some reason that had a vast impact on Gweneida. She blinked rapidly several times and stood up straighter, as if a pole was lodged up her back.

"Of coarse. My lady?" Brendan held out his hand. Stiffly Gweneida nodded and put her hand on his.

  
           What had come over her? Gweneida questioned herself. No one was supposed to have that effect on her. She had been goggling at him like some lovesick ninny. It was a good thing her father had brought her back to earth, or she might have done something that later she would regret.

  
            She had to admit, as she and Brendan twirled across the floor, that he was a good dancer, and after having to dance with some clumsy men that night, it was a pleasure to dance with someone who knew what he was doing. Against her will, her impression of him rose a notch. And by the end of the dance he had given her no reason to lower it again.

  
            Brendan then escorted Gweneida over to the chairs in the corner of the elegant ballroom. 

  
            "You are a good dancer as well my lady." Brendan said in appreciation.

"Thank you." Gweneida answered shortly.

"I can tell that you were born with grace, that is lucky for you. I had the misfortune of being born clumsy. When I first started dancing lessons my dance teacher got her feet trampled black and blue. I went trough three more teachers after her until I got it right. None of them stayed more than a week. Their feet couldn't stand it any longer."

Gweneida could not help give a small smile. It was rare that a man could laugh at himself with such good humor. It was rarer still that that wit could humor her also.

Encouraged Brendan continued. "And the only reason the last one stayed was because my father raised the price of the instructor's pay from two gold coins to five. She almost left even for that. Luckily by that time I had enough skill to step on her feet five times a day instead of fifteen. Still it was a long time until I was able to dance with any grace." He sighed in mock regret.

This time Gweneida chuckled. It felt odd to chuckle.

            Gweneida was about to reply when she saw her step- mother coming. All color drained from her skin, and she looked more translucent than a ghost. Intrigued Brendan looked up to see what had caused such an effect on Gweneida.

 Almost immediately an elegant woman came into view.  She extended her hand to Brendan. He raised an eyebrow, but accepted her hand and kissed the air right above it, so as not to be rude, but something about this woman put him on edge and he was not sure if he wanted to touch her right away. Seeming to not notice his hesitance, she introduced herself.  

"I am Queen Faenach of the kingdom Namoriet, but you should know who I am, considering you are so well acquainted with my step daughter." She smiled, but it held no warmth like a smile should.

            Abruptly realization hit Brendan. He paid well to be kept well informed. And, when her husband suggested he court Gweneida, one of his many informants, had told him about the infamous Faenach. Little was known about her life before becoming queen of Namoriet except that it was expected that she was of low birth, though there was not evidence to prove it. As he could see, her notorious beauty was true, as was her sternness concerning her stepdaughter. Where as Gweneida's father stayed away from his daughter and took every opportunity he could to marry her off, Faenach was overbearing and went out of her way to make Gweneida miserable.  Also she made it clear to her suitors that her stepdaughter was not to be married. And because she had a more intimidating personality then her soft-spoken husband, her word was law. Gweneida was still unwed.

            However Brendan could not help thinking it odd that she did not want her stepdaughter married off if she disliked her so. One thing was for sure though; Faenach was a formidable barrier for him to overcome if he wished to continue courting Gweneida.

            Before he could do anything to curb the queen's obvious dislike of him however she excused herself and her stepdaughter.

            "I am sure I will be better acquainted with you in the future, sir. But please excuse myself and my daughter, for we must be going now."

            Before he could say another word, the queen whisked herself and Gweneida out the door, with an out of breath king behind her.


	4. chapter 3

Chapter 3 

Gweneida tried to ignore Faenach's continuous chatter by staring outside the carriage window. Twirling a loose curl around and around her finger. It was a habit that she had had for years, and one that Faenach could not make her break. No matter how hard she tried. 

Faenach only talked so continuously when she was trying to convince Basil of something. It was very simple and very effective.  If she talked at sufficient length, Basil inevitably gave in to her wishes.

The kingdom the carriage was driving through, and that hosted the ball, was covered in rolling fields. Gweneida thought it was very beautiful, but preferred the forests of her home country. As far as the eye could see there grew an ocean of wheat. It rippled in the wind, creating waves of gold. Interrupted only by a rare house or lone figure working the fields. Gweneida sighed. No matter how hard she tried she could not keep her stepmother's voice out of her head.

"Really, Basil, the child is a disgrace! She was conversing with that lowly knight. And it amazes me that you can even call him that! Does he have any lands of his own? Well, no matter, Gweneida should _not have been talking with him, let alone flirting with him."_

Despite herself, Gweneida could not help raising an eyebrow. Faenach flirted much more then she did, and often took things considerably further than flirting. It was more than just a little hypocritical for her to say that Gweneida was a flirt. And she had not been flirting! Even though Gweneida knew it was useless to try to defend herself, she felt that she should at least try. "I was merely talking with Sir Brendan, Madame.  Nothing in his manner or dress indicated that he was unsuitable company."

Faenach lifted her aristocratic nose into the air and sniffed. "Well, he is. You shall not speak with him again." 

Surprised, Gweneida blinked. Faenach had always disapproved of her suitors, but she had never outright forbidden Gweneida to speak with them. What was it about Brendan that made the queen so stern? Before Gweneida could question her stepmother about her odd behavior, however, Basil interrupted.

"Now that is quite harsh, my dear. I know the lad myself and found him to be quite a respectable young man. Otherwise I would never have introduced him to Gweneida." Basil spoke his opinion on rare occasions, and even more rarely disagreed with his wife. His few rebellions were repressed by Faenach and very seldom did he get his way, even though he was king. 

"I know you are eager for our dear Gweneida to be wed, my beloved, but do you think this man would be the best one?"

Momentarily Basil looked tempted to agree, but then he shook his head. "No, Faenach, I must insist on allowing Gweneida to see Brendan again if she pleases." 

Always Gweneida hated it when they spoke of her as if she were absent, so she could not resist putting her say into the matter. "Actually, I found him quite charming. Much more so than many of the other men of higher birth." Gweneida knew what she said was true, and knew from her brief time with him that he was a lot better than all the others. 

It was as if she had not spoken. "Basil, you can't really mean that can you?" Faenach said as she smiled sweetly and batted her flaxen eyelashes. Again Basil seemed tempted to agree with his wife, but continued to shake his head, firm in his decision. Her expression changed from serene to menacing, but was smoothed over almost instantly as she sat back in her chair. Gweneida sat stiffly beside her and glared at her father. Even if she had agreed with him in this argument, she could not stand it when he made decisions for her without her consent so that he might go on ignoring her as quickly as possible.  He had done this forever, but it never stopped hurting.

***

Faenach never tired of looking in her mirror. It lay in her hidden room, which opened from the tapestry in her sitting room. Behind the tapestry there was a long winding staircase. Several candles that were magicked to never burn out dimly lit the room. The walls of the room were lined with shelves that held her experiments, vials of potion, and ancient magical texts. On the far side of the room was the mirror. 

Combing out her luxurious, pale blond locks as she gazed at herself in the mirror always relaxed her. And today had been a trying day. It was such a pain to have to convince Basil of something. Making him a complete slave of her magic would be too noticeable. And the commoners still loved their king. For some reason, they clung to their memory of the days when Thalia had still been alive, when he had still been a good king. The spell that he was under was much more subtle, giving him less will of him own. Unfortunately, he sometimes still got an idea in his head, and he wanted his daughter married and off his hands. It was a relief that he already was so distant from the girl; otherwise it would make things very difficult. 

Gweneida was getting harder and harder to control, and Faenach needed her. Without Gweneida it would be very difficult to keep up her youthful appearance. For the last year Faenach had been slowly draining her stepdaughter of her youth. So far it was unnoticeable, but soon it would become more so. It was lucky that she had all her other magic to help keep her beauty fresh, making it unnecessary to drain Gweneida too much, or Basil would become suspicious. As much as he avoided his daughter, he still would not allow her to be spellbound. At least the girl was good for something; she was very good-looking, and more importantly young. It was much easier to take someone's age away from them when they were still a youth. No, she would just have to keep Gweneida here for as long as she could. Her beauty was important. It got her from a poor whore to a powerful queen. Being the most beautiful woman in the world gave her power. And who did not want power?

It was getting difficult though, and that young lord (did Basil say his name was Brendan?) made her nervous. It was time to consult the mirror. The mirror was one of her earliest magical endeavors, though one of her favorites. It was a thing of great beauty. The oval frame was made out of ebony wood, and on it were carvings that depicted the symbols that were to be used for the spell. The surface of the mirror itself was clearer than an ordinary mirror, showing Faenach's beauty to its full. The spirit inside could show her anything. Could tell her anything. It never lied.

"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" she asked. Today she needed the conviction that she was.

"You are my queen. You are the fairest of them all," replied the mirror. And Faenach was content.


	5. chapter 4

IMPORTANT: I redid my chapter a little and now have a new chapter 1. Also I finally edited this chapter. I have an idea for the next chapter so it shouldn't be to long before I put it up, I am so sorry about how long it is taking.

Chapter 4

There were two sets of halls throughout the palace. The main hall, which most people used, and the small hall in the rear of the rooms, which the servants used. It was a tight space; only two people could walk abreast through it. And the walls, ceiling, and floor were in desperate need of care. In many places there were holes in the dirt floor, just waiting to twist an unsuspecting victim's ankle. The wall had cracks big enough to fit a balled fist through, and the ceiling leaked in several places. Gweneida used this hall more than the main hall

It was a safe road for her to take when she needed to escape the confines of the castle. Right then, Gweneida needed it more than usual. She had suffered through an hour of etiquette lessons, of which she knew by heart, had worked on embroidering a pillow until her hand cramped, and worst of all, had eaten dinner with Faenach and King Alexander. The time with Faenach she could have tolerated, for she did so often, but Alexander's flirting, coupled with Faenach's none so subtle attempts to bring his attention back to her, nearly drove Gweneida mad. She left as soon as it was polite to do so. 

Now Gweneida walked down the small hall. Her destination were the stables, were she planned to get her horse for a ride. She began to hurry with anticipation. In her rush she forgot to be weary when she reached a branch in the hallway (it was her habit to check for unwanted visitors). Before she could step into the right hall, a hand shot out and grabbed her arm. 

The arm pulled her toward its owner. Her captor stood in the shadow of the wall, so she was unable to see his face. However she was able to feel the hand that held her was strong, but smooth. There was not one callus that marred it. A sinking feeling came to Gweneida's stomach. Too shocked to protest, she stared in mute horror.            "There you are, beautiful. I have been looking everywhere for you." This was said in a low husky voice, so close to her ear that she could feel his breath, and smell the wine that marred it. She was able to place the voice immediately, and it confirmed her sinking feeling. The voice belonged to Alexander. 

"I am honored that you find me beautiful, sir, and worthwhile to look for, but I must insist that you unhand me," Gweneida said, with enough ice in her voice to freeze. In the past, her cool superior attitude had stopped unwanted attention. Gweneida hoped that it would work again.                                                                                

Alexander chuckled. But instead of doing as she wished, he pulled her closer. Every muscle in Gweneida's body tensed, prepared for danger. "But dearest, we only just met, I've been holding you for less than a minute."                                              

"Indeed sir, but it is quite inappropriate for you to be doing so."                         

"Oh, but if feels so appropriate from where I stand." Alexander replied as he pulled her closer still. Then, to Gweneida's horror he bent down to kiss her. Reacting instinctively, she pushed him back with all her strength. He fell back just enough for her to step away. Not looking behind her, Gweneida ran down the hallway. 

Gweneida dashed from hallway to hallway. Not once did she hesitate before turning. The only noises she heard were her gasping breath, and the pounding of her feet.

When she ran out of breath, she collapsed on to the ground. For several minutes she breathed in ragged breaths and tried to relax. Once she had calmed down enough to think straight, she realized that she had gotten lost in the maze of corridors. Although she knew much of the castle, she rarely went so deep into within the corridors. Dreading what she would see, she looked up and saw that she was a few feet from her destination, the stables. Too relieved to ponder the oddness of this situation, she jumped up and darted to her horse's stall.                                                                                                       

Snow Flake was the most beautiful horse in the stall. He was pure white. Even his hooves were white. And he stood out like a beacon in the room full of black, brown, and gray horses.                                                                                                       

Basil had gotten him for Gweneida as a present years ago. He had been browsing the fair for hours and found naught worth buying. Then he arrived at a small section, where a seller that was new to the trade was showing his horses. None of the horses caught his eye, except for a small white one. Basil took a liking to him, even though he was not large enough to carry an armored man, or strong enough to pull a cart. Instead he got him for his daughter's upcoming fifth birthday, for she was as white as the horse and as lovely. Snow Flake, as he named the horse, turned out to be the only beloved present that Gweneida's father had given her. 

***

Gweneida clung to Snow Flake's neck breathing in his earthy scent. After doing so for several minutes she calmed down enough to saddle him and lead him out of the stall. Under the watchful eye of the servants, she rode sidesaddle at a leisurely pace. 

At the forest edge she swung her left leg over the saddle, and clicked her tongue for Snow Flake to trot. Luckily the skirt she wore was very full, so she was able to ride astride. They rode through the dense woods with an effortlessness that came from years of practice. Gweneida loved to get out of her stifling home into the fresh air. For many years she had felt more at home in the deep wilderness. She found comfort in the silence, and tall black trees. Now that snow was starting to flurry once again, she felt even more at ease. 

Most people thought the woods were most beautiful in spring, but she considered it loveliest during the winter. The icicles hung from the tree branches, and reflected the light more than the purest diamond. Snowflakes floated down from the sky to rest on the ground. During the cold months, Gweneida spent hours outside. Faenach objected at first, but soon found nothing could keep her disobedient stepdaughter from the snow-covered forest. She ended the resistance, declaring that if Gweneida wanted to freeze to death, it was fine with her. Little did she know that Gweneida could not freeze. Or get cold. Ever. 

Never in her sixteen years had Gweneida experienced cold. She could stand outside for hours in the winter, and be unaffected. Sometimes she wondered what cold felt like, but she never found out. Therefore her time outside in the winter was unhindered by the cold, making it all the more enjoyable. 

Gweneida took a turn at the large oak tree, deciding to go visit one of her favorite spots, a small clearing that would be covered in Blanches; small, white, fragrant flowers, at this time of year. At the opening in the trees she took in a deep breath, savoring the scent of the blooms. When she opened her eyes, she was struck dumb. 

There, not ten feet away from her, was the most terrifying beast she had ever seen. It was a gray wolf. And this was not an ordinary gray wolf, towering over her at a height of eight or nine feet. His mouth was open, revealing large and undoubtedly sharp canines. For a moment outside of time, Gweneida stared into the yellow eyes of the predator. Too scared to react. Too scared to think. 

If Snow Flake had not reacted when she did, then both the horse, and the rider would have been dead. With practiced agility, the horse turned and sprinted at full speed away from the wolf. Never before had Snow Flake run so fast. She was out of Gweneida's control. All Gweneida could do was hold on to the reins and pray for her life. Soon the streaks of black that were the trees blurred together into an infinite black tunnel. Snow Flake's hooves seemed to not touch the ground, but skimmed over it instead. 

Only once did Snow Flake stumble. When a rabbit ran in front of her path he had to veer to the left and the sharp movement nearly caused Gweneida to fall off. For several heartbeats, Gweneida thought that it was over, that the wolf would catch them, but then Snow Flake regained her footing. 

Gweneida could hear the Wolf running behind them. She was too scared to look behind her to see, scared that the motion would slow her horse's action. For every thump of Snow Flake's hooves there was a thud from the Wolf. No matter how unnaturally fast the horse ran, the wolf would run faster. Soon it would be upon her, and then she would not stand a chance. It was a shame, she thought a little wildly, that I never had the courage to give Faenach the set down she deserved.             

Just then Snow Flake stopped dead in his tracks, almost throwing Gweneida over his neck with the sudden motion. There before her was Sir Brendan, mounted on a large brown horse. Gweneida blinked dumbly at him, not processing what she saw. With a jerk she realized that the wolf was still behind her. "The wolf! He's coming!" she cried and swung her head around. Behind her there was no sign of the wolf. He had disappeared. "He was there a moment ago, I swear it!" 

Brendan nodded and seemed to believe her. "What did he look like?" he asked

"He was huge! Bigger than my horse. It was a gray wolf. He chased me from the Blache field. I don't know where he came from," stammered out Gweneida, aware of Brendan's penetrating look. 

"I am not surprised. There are many unusual animals in the forest. It is a relief that you were unharmed. Let me escort you back to your home, Princess."        

"That is quite all right. I ride in the forest often. I need no escort, and it would be impolite of me to make you go out of your way to take me home." Gweneida answered, retreating into her cold shell.

"No, I am headed toward the castle anyway." 

"Oh? And for what business?" asked Gweneida, wary that he had come to visit the castle solely to court her.      

"I have some business what your father," Brendan replied. 

"What sort of business?" 

"Mostly land. I need more land for my peasants, your father is going to give me some forest land to clear for farms." 

Gweneida was surprised that Brendan had answered her. Most men, when questioned by a woman on business matters, would say 'it is none of your concern, dearest' and change the subject. She was both impressed and pleased. "Usually I have my brother handle such matters; he is far better at doing such things, but I found that I was eager for some new scenery." He continued.

"Isn't this an odd time of year to be travelling?" asked Gweneida. It was too close to winter for travel to be safe. Especially so far north. The roads got icy, and at night the air was below freezing. 

Brendan shrugged. "I suppose so. But I find that the risk is well worth the rewards. The land is so beautiful here when it turns cold. I love how everything is so crisp and clean. My land isn't far south from here, but for some reason it never gets as cold. If it wasn't for fear of frostbite, I would stay out here for hours." 

Gweneida chuckled in agreement, well aware of the temptation of the winter forest. They walked in silence after that, both enjoying the other's company, as well as admiring their surroundings. Sooner that she though possible, they were back at the castle. With a sigh of regret she resumed riding sidesaddle again. Gweneida cast a glance at Brendan, curious how he would react. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. 

She tilted her chin up proudly and answered his unvoiced question, "I think that riding sidesaddle is ridiculous. Not only is it uncomfortable, but it also makes any gait faster than a walk impossible." 

"I agree, Princess. You merely surprised me. You have my full sympathy, and I can assure you that your little secret is safe with me." Gweneida gaped at him, unable to respond to his unexpected attitude. Every other male she had met had thought the idea of a woman riding astride was repulsive. Before she could recover and respond, they had come to the stable. Sir Brendan dismounted easily and held his hand out to help her down. She accepted it and descended just as gracefully as he. 

"I hope that we can ride together in the future, Princess. And maybe next time you can join me willingly, instead of in necessity." 

"I would like that," Gweneida replied, and to her surprise, realized that she would. would. 


	6. chapter 5

Faenach watched through narrow eyes as Gweneida and Brendan rode in from the forest. In the last week they had ridden every day. It seemed that Gweneida had given in to a man at last. If Faenach did not do something fast the she would slip away.  
  
Faenach needed Gweneida's youth, but that was not the only reason she wanted the princess to stay. It made her feel powerful to have the girl under her thumb. She had gone from hoyden child to ice princess due to Faenach. That was an accomplishment that Faenach prided herself on. Having it paraded in front of her everyday reminded her of the power she was capable of.  
  
Beyond those surface reasons, there was yet another reason Faenach disliked the knight's attention to her stepdaughter, though she was reluctant to admit it even to herself. It galled her pride that he was paying court to Gweneida and not to her. Even though over the past year Gweneida had her share of attention, all of her suitors had been eager to turn their interest to Faenach when they found Gweneida unwilling to participate. This knight had been spurned less than the others, true, but his progress courting Gweneida was slow, yet still he remained focused and loyal to her. Not once did he go beyond common courtesy toward Faenach. Or flirted the slightest bit. When he was not doing business with Basil, he was with her stepdaughter. It was beginning to annoy her.  
  
Faenach glided toward her mirror, her billowing sleeves and train of her gown flowing behind her. She was fast approaching her 30th year; most women began to lose their looks by that time in their life. To assure herself that her beauty was still intact, it was necessary for Faenach to consult the mirror more often. Even though she liked what she saw, she had started to paint her face more thickly than she used to. Not only that, but she also used more spells to keep her skin fair, and her hair bountiful of late. She sighed in satisfaction at what she saw in her reflection. The midnight blue of her gown set her eyes, and the corset made her slim waist almost small enough for her hands to encircle. Her face and form were as perfect as a sixteen year old, if not better.  
  
Faenach began to caress the mirror as her thoughts continued to wander. There was more to her annoyance with the new knight's success with Gweneida than his indifference towards her. It was an even fiercer blow to her ego that Gweneida continued to spurn Alexander, but went riding with a mere knight daily. If possible her attitude had become even colder of late toward the king. Once or twice she had bordered on the line of rudeness. Her refusal only spurred Alexander on. He was determined to win Gweneida.  
  
The actuality that Alexander preferred Gweneida to Faenach was barely tolerable, but still tolerable. However that she scorned the man that was Faenach's lover showed that she considered herself superior. That, of course, would never do. It was time for Faenach to intervene.  
  
***  
  
Gweneida walked into her room somewhat dazed. She threw down her cloak, not caring where it fell. She had just returned from her ride with Brendan, and her emotions were in havoc, as they always were after spending time in his company. She sat down before her mirror. After the long ride her hair was more outside her braids than inside. Gweneida began to undo the long plaits, pulling each strand apart at a time. Once it was all free she started to comb it.  
  
The repetitive rhythmic motion of brushing her hair always relaxed her. Sometimes, as it did now, it even put her into a something of a trance. Even though she stared at her reflection she did not see it. The face in the mirror was one of calmness, a cover for her inner turmoil.  
  
Many of her previous admirers had been charming, but despite her valiant attempts to stay immune to him, none had managed to enchant her as Brendan did. His charm was not in his compliments or way with words, though he did well with both, but rather in his manner. Always he seemed to be at ease. If she did not like him so much it would be very annoying. Even when she had come running toward him with a enchanted wolf behind her he did not panic. His calmness relaxed Gweneida, making her open up to him in a way she had not in a long time. On one or two occasions this new occurrence scared her. Even more than that it confused her.  
  
It had been so long since she had had a friend. For years now she had been the Ice Princess. Even if she was not happy with this, at least she was familiar with it. Having someone come and threaten the way she had lived for years was terrifying. The only reason she did not run was because it felt so good to smile.  
  
Gweneida was too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear the creak of the door. Or see Faenach walk toward her. It was only when the cold hand was put on her shoulder that her presence was noticed. The brief contact sent a shiver down Gweneida's spine, and her back run rigid. Through the mirror Gweneida saw Faenach regard her with a look of concern. With one hand she stroked her hair, while she kept the other on her shoulder. Gweneida fought the impulse to roll her shoulder to rid it of the unwanted presence.  
  
"You have such beautiful hair my dear." Faenach whispered while twisted a strand of it around her white finger. "It is so thick, and so dark. Sometimes I think it is the deepest blue, not black." Her voice was no more than a soft purr, and if Gweneida did not know her true nature she would have been taken in by the sweet tone. Instead Gweneida watched her eyes. They were the only part of Faenach that spoke the truth. And sometimes even they lied. However they were veiled by her pale lashes, shielding Gweneida from Faenach's true purpose.  
  
Faenach lifted her lashes to reveal her ice blue eyes, which were brimming with motherly worry. This must be important to her if she is able to control her eyes, Gweneida realized. It never crossed her mind that Faenach might be showing true concern, because she never was worried with anyone but herself.  
  
She seemed about to say something, but instead turned to sit on Gweneida's bed. Even when she did something spontaneous she moved with practiced grace. She patted the place beside her inviting Gweneida over. Wary, Gweneida complied. She too moved with uncommon elegance, but hers was natural and not learned over the years to entice.  
  
"Now I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye me dear, and we aren't very close. But you must believe me when I say I am genuinely worried about you." While Faenach said this she drew Gweneida's hands into her own. The gesture should have been one of comfort, but Faenach's hands were like ice, and it was hard not to withdraw from them. To hide her uneasiness she bowed her head. Taking the action as one of acceptance Faenach continued. "You see dearest, not all men are good. Many will take advantage of you and use you. I know that this must be hard for you to understand, because you are such an innocent, but it is true."  
  
It was fortunate that the screen of her hair hid Gweneida's face because she could not help a sarcastic smile that formed on her face. How could Faenach think that she was unaware of the scruples of men when she had been left to their devices with no help? Most mothers would try to protect their daughters from the evils of life outside. Faenach was not one of these mothers. She had shoved Gweneida into the world with not a word of warning or advice. Luckily, that Gweneida was a quick learner.  
  
"Some men will pretend to love you, when all they love is your money. I don't like the possibility of you falling into such a trap. Be careful won't you?" Whatever she expected Gweneida to do in response to this well practiced warning, she did not think she would look up with a genuine smile on her face. Faenach briefly showed her surprise at this action, but quickly turned it into a returning smile.  
  
"Of course I will be Madame. I am sure your advice is wise and will do all I can to comply." Gweneida answered. She spoke with sincerity and awe in her voice. It was only inside her self that she was brimming with laughter. Did Faenach think she was stupid enough to fall for such a ruse? Compared to her usual manipulations this plot was very ill planned. It had been years since she had fallen for Faenach's fake sympathy. She knew exactly how to react to such a ploy. She would have to listen to her advice, pretend to consider it, and then ignore it.  
  
If she was surprised by her acceptance Faenach showed no sign. "I am glad you are taking my word seriously love." With that she gave Gweneida's hand a final affectionate pat and left the room.  
  
After a good chuckle Gweneida started to ponder what Faenach had said while she tugged at her hair. The familiar movement brought her a small piece of comfort after such an unnerving situation. She gave no relevance to the suggestion that Brendan was  
  
after her position; after all, he had told her himself that he was happy with his small manor. However it did seem odd that her stepmother had brought it up. Faenach would not have done so if her behavior around him were not obviously different than towards her past suitors. Before now Gweneida had not realized how unusual she was acting. Well no, that wasn't true. She had known that she liked him more and enjoyed spending time with him more than any of the others, but she had not known that her behavior was so apparent.  
  
She had become the flirt that she always vowed not to be. Suddenly she was very angry, though she was not sure if it was at herself or at Brendan. She shot off the bed and started to pace the room.  
  
Something would have to change; she could not continue to embarrass herself around Brendan. Either he would have to stop courting her, or she would have to stop reacting to his advances. And because it did not seem likely that he would stop any time soon, it left the latter to be done. With her newfound resolution Gweneida stopped pacing and straightened her back, prepared for battle.  
  
***  
  
"Excuse me ma'am, do you know where the princess is?" Brendan pulled a hustling servant woman to the side and questioned her. The woman seemed irritated at being interrupted from her work, but after seeing who it was gave a genuine smile.  
  
"She just went for a walk sir. Most likely she went towards the mill, that's her favorite place to walk this time of year." Brendan thanked her and continued on his way. At first he had thought the positive reaction to his courtship from the servants was odd, but he soon realized it came from love of their mistress, and a wish to see her happily wed. Without their willingness to supply information on her whereabouts it would be impossible to ever find her. King Basil might have been willing to help, but when not doing work with Brendan he barricaded himself into his office. And certainly neither Alexander nor Faenach would aid him in his quest.  
  
Gweneida's withdrawal from him had begun a few weeks past, with no apparent reason. For the first time Brendan knew why she was called the Ice Princess, at times it seemed that she was not human. He would have lost heart were it not for the memory of her sad smile, and the rare whimsy that he had seen creep into her eyes when she thought he was not looking.  
  
After spending near three weeks at the castle he could get around with little mishap. From his time wandering the corridors he had learned much about the folk of the castle. They were all loyal to the princess, and to a lesser degree the king. Although often they complained about their sire's lack of interest in the affairs of the kingdom, they just as often commented on his past glory. Ever since the death of her mother they had been Gweneida's family. They had raised her, loved her, and seen her grow. It was mostly for her sake that they stayed, putting up with the occasional abuse of Queen Faenach.  
  
Brendan took a sharp corner at the stables and arrived at the base of the hill. On the peak there stood an old mill that was had recently started to tumble down. In the distance he could see the small figure of Gweneida against the setting sun. He started taking large steps to catch up with her.  
  
Gweneida turned around when he was half way up the hill. Because of her pause Brendan thought she was going to wait for him, but then she continued on her way, taking strides that tried to hide her increasing speed. With a grin he changed his pace also until he was a few feet behind.  
  
"Good evening Princess. Beautiful day for a walk isn't it?" Brendan said, looking up into the sky in appreciation. It was the first time the sky had been clear of clouds in days, and although he had seen Gweneida itching to get out, she had been unable to. The only flaw with their surroundings was that the ground was still muddy from the rain. Every step they took sucked at, and then squished in the mud.  
  
While he was looking up Brendan stumbled on a log. With a quick jump he avoided a fall, but just barely. To his shock Gweneida had an innocent look on her face, condemning her for not warning him. Brendan chuckled at her trick good-naturedly. "It is a good thing I am no longer clumsy. I used to trip over my feet every day. Once during training I fell off my horse when a bird flew by his nose and spoken him, and me to tell the truth, it was very embarrassing." While Brendan continued with his story he saw Gweneida give a small sigh of resignation. It had not taken her long to find out about his tendency to talk. She tolerated it better than most, though her annoyance at times was apparent. So far she had not snapped at him for prattling. Her acceptance of his habit was another reason he continued with his pursuit of her, she had more to recommend herself than she thought.  
  
"Well, that was a long time ago. Now I have my feet firmly planted on the ground." With that last declaration he took a large step forward. Unfortunately he had forgotten the muddy ground and went tumbling down the hill. Because they were near the top he had a long way to fall, and did not do so with grace. When he reached the bottom he made a gallant attempt to regain his feet. But as soon as he stood he toppled back over.  
  
Gweneida grabbed her skirts and ran down the hill. Not once did she stumble until she sat by his side. Brendan blinked up dazedly. Her concerned face peered down at him with genuine worry. "Brendan, Brendan, are you all right? Please tell me you are all right!" Gweneida squeaked as she grabbed for his hand. Brendan was unable to do more than nod. In the back of his mind he noticed her distress at his welfare and hoped it meant he was making progress getting into her heart.  
  
At the stunned look on his face Gweneida tried to stifle a chuckle. When he noticed and started to lean forward, only to fall back again when he slipped her chuckles turned to laughs. Then her laughs developed into hoots. Soon she was rolling on the ground in mirth, becoming just as muddy as he. Brendan couldn't help but grin down at her, even though it hurt his head to do so. The ice princess had at last melted 


	7. chapter 6

Sorry it took so long to update sigh. I guess I am just getting lazy. I'll try real hard to get the next chapter in soon. So what do ya'll think of my poetry? Usually I don't do any, so any advice is welcome.  
  
The dwarf felt the shield collapsing. It was gone suddenly and completely. He levered himself off of his chair and hobbled over to his worktable. On it was one lone object, a crystal plate. At least that is what it appeared to be. On closer examination it was revealed to be made of ice. But the ice was so clear that it was appeared to be glass. The only thing that exposed its existence was a silver lining. And even that was hard to detect, as it was so thin and simple.  
  
Though the dwarf said no spell a face soon appeared on the smooth surface. The face was that of a young woman. She was very lovely, but covered it mud. A smile spread on her face radiating warmth and joy. She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face and laughed when it stuck due to the mud. Although he could not hear the sound of her laughter, the dwarf could feel the happy sound in his bones. The harsh planes of his face softened into a smile. It was the loveliest feeling he had felt in a long time. Just as her rosebud mouth began to move the image slowly changed to a moving cloud, than nothing.  
  
He stepped back as the image faded away. A thoughtful frown covered his face as he shuffled back to his chair. He sat back down and continued to stare out at nothing. With out a muscle twitching on his face he strengthened his guard around the girl; it had to be stronger now that it was her sole defense. A great thing had happened, but he was not sure yet if it was for better or worse. All he knew for sure was that it was time for him to interfere.  
  
It was not that he had been unaware of the changing environment around her, but having everything crumble down in an instant was still unsettling. He had felt the subtle shifting of the shield around her in the last few weeks, but he had not thought it would tumble so suddenly. Seeing her face had proved its disappearance.  
  
He had looked into the ice mostly so he could see her sweet face again, it was a privilege he rarely let himself have, and enjoyed every second of. Because he already knew the shield had fallen, he had just wanted to see her with out it to hinder his observation. He had only seen her periodically through the 16 years of her life, yet knew her better than anyone else.  
  
Before the witch had come it had been much easier to watch over her, and on one or two occasions the dwarf had even done so with his naked eye, but after she arrived he was more wary. It would not do for the interferer to know of his existence, she was much too powerful to be taken lightly. Her presence had changed his entire plan drastically, but he had always been a practical man and tried to adapt to the change.  
  
Now was the time to interfere at last. He had been keeping an eye on her when she was in range of his creatures, because he had felt the time was going to be ripe soon. Only once had she discovered one of his spies. She had panicked, but had been unharmed. After that he had been very careful about who he sent and where. Soon the queen would find out about Gweneida's come out, and who knew how she would react. Someone would have to protect the princess. He sighed and decided on the wolf. Even if he was not the most careful of his creatures, and Gweneida knew of his presence, he was the most intimidating and fierce.  
  
The dwarf pushed himself out of his chair and back to his mirror. He would summon the wolf.  
  
***  
  
Faenach's pale hand waved over the surface of her mirror. Colors started to swirl over it, at first having no pattern or form, but soon they created a scene. A young woman was sitting before a mirror of her own, head in hands, crying. The only feature of her's visible was her thick red hair. Or what was left of it. For in her hand she held a lock of it, and on the floor tresses of it were scattered. Spread out like strands of fire ready to consume the woman they sprang from.  
  
A satisfied smile appeared on Faenach's face. The stupid wench had stolen one of Faenach's admirers with her flaming hair, but she would do so no more. It was not really revenge; she consoled herself, just taking action to keep her place as the most beautiful. After all, how could she be the most fair if another head of hair could sway one of hers?  
  
It had been a successful day of work. Alexander had been captured by her charms earlier. Lately he had been too absorbed in his quest for Gweneida to take time for her, but he was not idiot enough to continue doing so, he knew what a powerful witch Faenach was. After some persuasion Basil had given in to her argument for a new dress. And most importantly, the red headed girl had been taken care of.  
  
There was only one thing left to complete for the day to be complete. Faenach smoothed out her gown and straitened her hair. Then she began to chant.  
  
"Spirit in the mirror I conjure thee,  
  
So pray come to me,  
  
It is honest you cannot lie,  
  
So on the truth you tell I must rely,  
  
In my kingdom who is the most fair?  
  
Of all you must compare,  
  
To the lowly serf,  
  
To she of most noble birth,  
  
Is it I, Is it I?  
  
For if not, she must die."  
  
The hollow tone of the spirit issued forth,  
  
"Oh my queen,  
  
Before this day none more beautiful has been seen,  
  
But now Gweneida has come out of her shell,  
  
Like a witch's first spell,  
  
You have been overthrown,  
  
Fair Gweneida now holds you're coveted thrown."  
  
No sound came from Faenach's gaping mouth. She stared in mute horror at her reflection. How could such a perfect face be paralleled? Was it a joke? Yes it had to be. Her mouth thinned in annoyance at the mirror. It had gone too far to mock her beauty.  
  
"Spirit in the mirror I conjure thee,  
  
So pray come to me,  
  
It is honest you cannot lie,  
  
So on the truth you tell I must rely,  
  
But yet an untruth you say,  
  
Answer my question right with out delay".  
  
Again the voice of the mirror called out into the room. Echoing against the walls making it seem louder and more sinister than usual.  
  
As you say, I may not lie,  
  
And my telling has not gone awry,  
  
The answer to your question is as before,  
  
You are fair, but snow white is fairer more".  
  
Faenach started to quiver. Her vision blurred to an angry red, as her whole world tumbled down before her eyes. When her sight had cleared to a dull pink she grabbed the mirror and pulled it toward her. With wide-open eyes she stared at her reflection. For the first time she noticed the loosening of her skin, and rare streaks of silver shot through her flaxen head, so close in color that they were almost imperishable. Before her eyes the slightly aged woman's hair turned more and more gray. Soon it was all lank and white. Wrinkles formed between her brow, her skin sagged and cracked. Her slim figure turned first plump, then bone thin. The old hag smiled at Faenach. She had no teeth.  
  
Faenach screamed and jumped back. She shook as the nightmare disappeared to be replaced again by her current reflection. As the shook of her newfound knowledge sunk in Faenach put her hand to her heart and collapsed onto her chair. Still trembling she held her head into her hand and sobbed into her handkerchief.  
  
She had been the fairest for so long that she was nothing with out the title. What would become of her now? She knew the answer before the thought had finished registering in her head. She would turn into the old hag. So hideous that no one, not even she would be able to behold her hideousness. The image of her aging body next to her stepdaughter's newly ripening one made her gag. She could not let that happen.  
  
Then Faenach steeled her spine and sat up. Determination etched on her face. She tightened her hand into a fist crumbling the dainty handkerchief inside it. Faenach stood and marched over to a shelf filled with books. A heavy one covered with magical symbols came down first. She leafed through it quickly, but was unable to find the spell that she sought. Soon others joined it on the table, scattered in Faenach's frantic haste.  
  
Just before she gave up her search Faenach's eye caught on a thin manuscript. It was so ancient that the cover was peeling off and the words had faded. Faenach grabbed it, knowing instinctively that it held the answer. Right as she opened the book it fell open to a script filled page. On it there was a detailed picture of a human heart. How to Consume Another's Essence, the title read. A smile crept across Faenach's face. Perfect.  
  
***  
  
Ever since the day before Gweneida had been more aware. Not that she had not been before, but now she noticed things that would have passed her by. While in the castle she felt the love of Old Agnes, her maid since childhood. As did she feel the protectiveness Robert the Steward, who taught her to read, had toward her. Also she saw the wariness that shielded their true feelings when Faenach was near.  
  
For as long as Faenach was queen Gweneida had known she could manipulate magic. Now she could almost see the power crackling around her, waiting for a change to be put to use. She could also feel her stepmother's hatred stronger than before.  
  
King Basil too was seen in a new light. He was a pitiful shell of a man, who's husk only hinted at past power. Also now noticed were the black thread of hair left in his otherwise gray head. Gweneida could tell he had once been handsome. Before she had assumed him to always have been old and weary. Near his eyes there were faded spider web thin lines by his eyes that told of past laughter that were now replaced by a line between his brow.  
  
Gweneida also saw the hidden cunning within King Alexander, who she had assumed to have a brain as shallow as his heart. He truly was the perfect mate for Faenach Gweneida realized. He was selfish, self absorbed, vain, beautiful, and mean. It was amazing that none of the woman he wood and won in the past realized that until it was too late.  
  
The only person unchanged to Gweneida's senses was Brendan. He was still too charming for her good, warm, and filled with laughter. Now that she thought of it, the total opposite of King Alexander.  
  
Places too took on new meaning for Gweneida. The castle's main rooms were now realized to be her prison. They were cold and oozed with Faenach's hidden spells. Getting more uncomfortable for her the closer she got to Faenach's chamber. She now new why she spent as much time as she could in the servants' quarters. It was not just that they smelled of freshly baked bread and echoed with laughter. They also directly opposed Faenach's tainting with warms.  
  
As much as Gweneida found she liked this warms still liked the solitude of the forest better. It had it's cold true, but it held none of the malice like the castle did. But rather a healthy natural fell that soothed her.  
  
Gweneida let the cool air brush her hair out of her eyes and caress her face like a long lost friend. As always it was near silent. Only to the experienced were sounds heard. Then all sound stopped.  
  
In mid-step Gweneida stood. Never before had she heard the wood go so still. Then there came footsteps. All of the stories she had heard through the years warming her about magical creatures that haunted the wood went through her mind. Gweneida forced herself to be practical, that it was most likely only a deer, but her heart ignored the command and started to beat faster.  
  
She stopped breathing taking in every crack of a twig and huff of a breath. It was a large animal to make such heavy noise, but a gracile one to be so subtle. Gweneida started to back away from the sound, knowing instinctively that it's source would be able to outrun her in a heartbeat.  
  
When her back reached the trunk of a tree and the sound was close enough to be within a few yard Gweneida fluttered her eyes shut and prepared to fly. Maybe if she surprised the animal she would have a chance. Taking one last desperate breath she tense her muscles. Before she could change her mind she shot her eyes open and sprung before her.  
  
A squeak abruptly stopped Gweneida. She teetered on her feet at the sudden change in speed and barely stayed up. Once she had caught her breath she saw who was before her. It was only Michel, one of the stable hands. Gweneida put one hand on her chest and the other on her head as she heaved with relief.  
  
Then she started to chuckle. How could she have been so stupid? She had let her imagination get the better of her. "I'm terribly sorry Michel. You gave me quite a start."  
  
To Gweneida's surprise the boy only nodded, still staring at her in horror. He had never shown shyness around her before. They were about the same age but his mind was slower than it should have been. If it was not for his magical way with horses Faenach would have gotten rid of him ages ago."I am afraid I thought you were a magical creature. A dragon maybe? Or a unicorn?" She said in attempt to lighten his mood.  
  
Instead his bottom lip started to quizzer and he started to bawl. Horrified that her joke at injured Michel's feelings she ran over to him and took him into her arms. "You Michel I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset." When her apology failed to stop the flood of tears Gweneida started to worry. "Michel.Michel are you alright?" She looked at him in concern.  
  
Nothing she said seemed to help Michel so Gweneida just held him close until his tears had stopped. Once his snivels turned to hiccups she brushed some hair off his damp cheek and again asked what bothered him. "I.I.I'm so sorry ma'am. I w.would never had done it. No.no matter what she threatened to do to me. Never, I sw.swear it." Now instead of hugging her Michel was shaking her. He did not know his strength so Gweneida's teeth began to rattle. Desperately she nodded her head, eager for him to unhand her.  
  
"She. she wants you dead! She told me to.to.to kill you. And.a." He continued.  
  
Before he could go on Gweneida interrupted him. "Who wants to kill me Michel?" A dread settled in her stomach.  
  
"Sh.she said I was to find you when you were a..alone, then kill you when your back was turned. I.I said I would do.do it but I never would Princess, I never could."  
  
Gweneida patted the large man on his solder "Yes Michel I am sure you never would have. Now you must tell me who wants you to kill me."  
  
"Th.the queen. She wants your.your heart."  
  
After nodding Gweneida let go of Michel and shut her eyes in wariness. It really did not surprise her that Faenach wanted her dead. She had known unconsciously for a long while that it was coming. It was only a matter of time before her control snapped and jealousy got the better of her. Dealing with the matter however would take some though. She could not let Michel get blamed. Faenach would surely punish him harshly if there were any clue to his betrayal.  
  
The first matter to attend to was Michel. The poor thing was quivering in fear. Gweneida forced a comforting smile. "I know you would never hurt me Michel. There is no need to be afraid."  
  
Michel whipped his head back and forth in denial. "I knew you would not h.hurt me ma'am. I am afeard of the qu.queen."  
  
"Yes I see." Gweneida started to pace between the trees while she thought of a plan. "You must not go back empty handed, Faenach would surly kill you." When he started to shake again Gweneida rushed to sooth him. "Not to worry I am sure we can come up with something. What we need is another's heart. Maybe an already dead man, or better yet an animal. That's it! Michel you can hunt can't you?" Before he could answer she continued. "You can kill a boar, those are big enough to have hearts human sized. Give Faenach the boars heart, that way she won't know you let me go." That solved one problem, now for where to go. "I can't go back that is obvious. But were else can I go that won't give me up?"  
  
Michel's face lit up. "The.the knight that is sweet on you. He will keep you safe."  
  
"Michel that's brilliant!" Gweneida was gratified with a huge smile. "You must tell Brendan about Faenach. Tell him that I am in the woods and need his help. Can you do that? Can you get the heart and tell Brendan what happened."  
  
Eager to please his mistress Michel nodded and turned to rush off. "Wait!" yelled Gweneida. She rushed over to his side and squeezed his arm. "Thank you very much for warning me Michel. You are very loyal and if I ever get home you will be rewarded." To her shock she was then lifted into a hug that lifted her off her feet. Before she could catch her breath Michel had disappeared back into the forest.  
  
A weary sigh escaped Gweneida's mouth as she slid down the tree trunk to sit on the ground. She rubbed her temples while closing her eyes. With out Michel to keep a brave front in for she was overrun with fear. She was in the middle of a wild forest, with a mad queen trying to kill her, with the only aid of a slow horseman. It seemed hopeless.  
  
If Gweneida was not practical than she would have sat there in self pity all day. As it was she knew better. She forced herself to stand, and then start walking. The woods held none of the welcoming from before. It was a feat just to put one foot in front of the other. Gweneida kept her gaze focused on the ground before her, not caring where her feet took her.  
  
Gweneida kept so introverted that she hardly noticed the sky turn to dusk. Suddenly she saw a foot before her. It was a large foot. And a hairy one. A large gulp sounded from Gweneida's throat. Inch by inch she lifted her head. Her heart betting faster and faster with what she saw.  
  
When she had gotten to the wolf's head he was puffing in her face. Gweneida's mouth dropped open and she gave a little squeak. She found to her horror she was to petrified to move. She shut her eyes, hoping it was only a nightmare, but when she opened them he was still there.  
  
Then he licked her. It was the most slobbery and disgusting thing Gweneida had ever felt. Also the most wonderful. All of her fear evaporated, replaced by wonder. She laughed and scratched the big dog under his chin. He liked that enough to butt her hand when she stopped. After a few more minutes of attention the wolf seemed to remember something.  
  
He jogged a little way then turned his head to look at her. When Gweneida did not move he huffed. Somehow he managed to look annoyed as he walked back and huffed again. Before she could follow him he grabbed a chunk of her sleeve pulling her along. Gweneida could not help laughing again as they continued on their way. When he thought her ready he let go. Unfortunately when not hampered he walked a lot faster than Gweneida did, so she was forced to trot to keep up.  
  
They continued thus for a little ways. Several times the wolf was forced to stop for Gweneida' benefit, but soon they arrived at their destination.  
  
Gweneida knew it was where the wolf was leading her right away. It was a cottage situated in the middle of a clearing. All around it was a ring of trees, protecting it from sight and harm. Although noting fancy, it was well made. On opposite sides of the house there were chimneys, the larger one most likely for cooking, the other for warmth. Before Gweneida there was a stone path leading to the front of the cottage. Above the small door that the pathway led to there was a circular window. In fact, much of the house was covered in windows.  
  
In the front of the house there was a large garden organized impeccably. On the right of the stone path there were herbs and vegetables, each in neat rows. Because it was the cold season, many of the plants were asleep, but some still lived on. On the left there was every sort of flower imaginable. Many were covered in snow, but still managed to bloom. How odd, Gweneida thought to herself. Briefly she left the path two sniff one of the roses. She inhaled the intoxicating smell and sighed in contentment. Although she should have been wary of intruding in a un-known environment, but instead she felt at peace.  
  
Gweneida lowered her feet softly so as not to disturb the tranquil site. When she got to the door she hesitated before pushing it open. The door creaked and revealed the inside. It was the homiest place Gweneida had ever seen. The floors were covered with simple rugs, the tables covered with flowers from the garden, and it smelled of cooking. Awe struck at the innocence of the place she could only stare.  
  
When she finally obtained enough courage to walk in, she did it in silence. However she could not keep up her reserve in such a welcoming place and was soon exploring the premises. While she did so she noticed something odd. It took her a while to place what it was, but once she saw the beds she knew. Everything inside was smaller than average. Not so tiny as to be unusable, but much more delicate than what she was used to. Fortunately Gweneida was a little below average in height, so was able to fit onto one of the beds. She was only testing its size she assured herself. That was her last coherent thought as she drifted into sleep. 


	8. chapter 7

"He...here is the...the heart y...your majesty," stammered Michael. He cringed when Faenach's white hand picked up the offered box. As soon as the box was given he stepped back.  
  
"Very good," purred Faenach as she stroked the casket to her bossom. "Run along now." Michael did not need a second invitation; he disappeared beyond the closest corner before Faenach finished her sentence.  
  
As soon as he was gone Faenach lifted the lid. A squeal of delight escaped her when she saw the bloodied organ. She was about to close the lid, but was unable to resist another peak. After a few more lapses she snapped the box shut and dashed towards the kitchen.  
  
When she entered the hot room the busy space went silent. Quickly Faenach spotted the head cook, a rotund man with a balding head. "Cook this now," she pushed the box at him. "I want to eat it for supper."  
  
"Should I serve some to your husband as well Madam?" To the little man's horror Faenach hooted with mirth.  
  
"Hmm...I'm not sure. It would certainly have a sort of ironic justice to it," she tapped her chin with one finger. "But then again, it may be trusting fate too much. No, I will take this meal alone. Bring it up to my chamber when it is done."  
  
Before the stunned man could reply, she whirled out of the kitchen, leaving nothing to tell of her visit, but a scent of heavy perfume. Skipping up to her room she giggled with youthful enthusiasm.  
  
Faenach flung herself onto her rumpled bed and grabbed for the mirror that lay on her bed-table. Although it was not as clear as her magical one, it still was of amazing quality. The face of a yellow haired blushing young woman stared back. Not a hideous old hag. With a cry of glee she hugged the mirror to her chest. She whipped it back out, gazing at her perfect reflection until there was a knock at the door.  
  
In a single movement Faenach threw down the mirror and leaped toward the door. She grabbed the offered platter of food from the servant's hand then slammed the door in his face. She jumped back onto her bed and grabbed the fork and knight into fists. Faenach stabbed the cooked heart with her knife, and shoved the morsel into her mouth.  
  
She moaned in delight as she fell back onto the pillows. The knife was pulled out from between her teeth, reluctant to leave even for a moment. Again Faenach pierced into the heart, and soon there was nothing left.  
  
Finger by finger Faenach licked off the remaining juices. Once there was no remaining drop she fell back exhausted. She had never felt so drained. With her last remaining strength she threw her hand back onto the handle of the mirror and pull it to her face. She gave a lazy smile at her reflection. Covered with food juices, but never more content. "Who is the fairest now?" she murmured.  
  
"You are my queen," Faenach heard the whispery breath of the mirror. "You are the fairest."  
  
***  
  
Brendan was beginning to worry. Gweneida had agreed to meet him at the stables an hour before, but still had not arrived. Even when she had been cold toward him, she had never been late. It was part of her honor code.  
  
While he was waiting, Brendan began to brush his horse Sunshine's coat. Through his mind he was reviewing all the happenings that could have detained Gweneida. He came up a good number, but none appeased his sense of unease. When his horse grunted, Brendan looked down and realized that he had begun to brush the air beside her.  
  
"Sorry girl," he whispered as he pat her neck. While he pulled the saddle off, the door was slammed behind him. He whipped his head around and found Michael rushing toward him.  
  
"S...sir, I must tell you something v...very important," he stuttered between rasping breaths.  
  
"What is it?" a sense of foreboding settled in Brendan's stomach.  
  
Michael swallowed, and his already wide eyes crossed in fear. "T...the queen t...told me to kill the princess."  
  
"What!" Brendan roared as he shook him until his teeth rattled, "How could you, she is..."  
  
Michael whipped his head back and forth, sending his hair flying across his face. "I...I didn't hurt her. I n...never would hurt the princess."  
  
Brendan stepped back as his numb arms flopped to his sides, too terrified to apologize for his rough behavior. His mind was blank, but he heard his voice say, "Then where is she?"  
  
"I...I don't know. She t...told me to come get you.  
  
"You left her in the forest?" Brendan came back to life. "That is no better than killing her outright you fool! Do you know what kind of creatures are out there?"  
  
Michael through his head back and bawled. "I...I...just di...did what the princess t...told me to!"  
  
"Of course you did," sighed Brendan, running a hand through his hair. He knew his anger was doing nothing to help either the lack-wit stable hand, or himself, get any closer to rescuing Gweneida. But he could not resist the need to vent his anger. Instead he paced the stables, kicking a bucket out of the way, sending it clunking to the other side of the room.  
  
"She...she told me to tell y...you where she is, and what h...happened."  
  
"Where did you last see her Michael?"  
  
"B...by the big oak tree n...near the st...stream."  
  
With out another word Brendan leapt up into the saddle and galloped toward the forest. The biting wind did not faze him, though it caused tears to run down his immobile face. His only thought was of find Gweneida.  
  
The cold air dropped to a lower degree of freexing when he entered the forest. The huge trees blocked out most of the light, giving the snow no chance to melt. Brendan swerved Sunshine around countless times, in a seemingly meaningless pattern, but after an endless amount of searching he found traces of Gweneida's passage. Although he wanted to keep pounding through the woods, he forced Sunshine to a gentle trot, keeping his eye on the faded footprints in the ground.  
  
Time was meaningless to him until the lack of light made it impossible to continue. He considered risking the attempt to keep going through the night, but the risk of loosing the tracks far outweighed the time saved.  
  
Brendan slipped down from the saddle, and by the wane moonlight tied Sunshine's bridle to a nearby branch. He stumbled toward the stream, fell down by the bank, and gulped down the fresh water. Once his thirst was quenched, he realized the emptiness in his stomach, but forced himself to be content with satisfying one need.  
  
He stared down into his reflection. Before his weary eyes his face melted into Gweneida's. With tears in his eyes he bent down and brushed his fingers across the surface.  
  
Small ripples vibrated from his touch, erasing the illusion. However, instead of the reappearance of his own face, the image of a wizened old man appeared. Brendan was surprised, but not afraid. He sensed he was looking at an actual person, and not a trick of light. No wrinkle of water crossed over the face, nor did the pebbles from the bottom of the lake show through. The old man nodded, acknowledging his presence, then disappeared into the awakened movement of the stream.  
  
When Brendan drew back he was weary to the bone. It took all of his willpower to force his limbs to move. And since walking was beyond his capability, he crawled up toward the trees and collapsed under their safety. Before his eyes closed, he was asleep.  
  
***  
  
"Who is she?" through the fuzziness of sleep Gweneida heard the lisp of a little voice.  
  
"I don't know. But she sure is good looking," this time the comment came from a man, and Gweneida guessed he was young. Not much older than herself. Instead of opening her eyes to reveal her awakened state, she peered through her lowered lashes. She was able to see three pairs of feet standing around her bed.  
  
"You consider everything that walks in a skirt good looking," the third voice was also a male, but it broke periodically. Gweneida smiled as she recognized the sullen tone of a person just entering adulthood. She had never had the opportunity to enter that state, but she had seen it often.  
  
"Look, the pretty lady is smiling," said the first voice. Gweneida opened her eyes to find herself looking into the largest brown eyes that she had ever seen. The eyes were set in the angelic face of a little girl.  
  
As Gweneida pulled herself into a sitting position, she observed the small crowd surrounding her. The first thing she noticed was all of them were shorter than average. She estimated the tallest to be an inch or so shorter than her own average height, and the smallest was no bigger than her thigh.  
  
"What are you doing in my bed?" said the young man. He was the tallest of the bunch, and was the most beautiful man Gweneida had ever seen. His raven hair was fashioned into loose waves that framed the classical perfection of his face. "Not that I have any objection to you being there, but I think I have the right to know."  
  
Gweneida could feel her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment "I fell asleep, I didn't mean to, honest, it was just that I was so tired and your bed was so soft..."  
  
"Its quite alright sweetheart," the man said with a smile that broke hearts. Luckily for Gweneida, her heart had already been taken.  
  
"I was lost in the woods. Well not lost precisely, because one can't lost when one was not headed anywhere in the first place. But I didn't have anywhere to go, and your home was open, so I was just going to get a bite to eat and rest for a while, but once I closed my eyes eye...I guess I fell asleep."  
  
"Why were you in the woods? It was a very ill advised," said the boy as he pushed a pair of large round glasses up his nose.  
  
"It wasn't as if I had a choice," Gweneida snapped, but softened her response with a smile. "It is a long story, I doubt you want to hear it."  
  
"Certainly not while you are in bed!" came a new voice plowing through the others. A moment later the owner of the voice stepped out. She was shorter than all but the child, but demanded attention with her presence. Gray streaked her brown hair, and wrinkles extended from her warm gray eyes. She placed her hands on her round hips and frowned. "When was the last time you ate child?"  
  
"I...I am not sure."  
  
"Well than, let Mrs. Terow get you some thing to eat. Then you can tell us why you are here," with out hesitating for Gweneida to comply, she took her by the hand and into the kitchen. The rest of the dwarfs followed behind them in a single file. "Sit down now, you are much too thin."  
  
Mrs. Terow bustled over a moment later with buttered bread in one hand, and a large cup of Milk in the other. "Here you are Dearie," she gave Gweneida the offerings and sat down on a stool beside her.  
  
At first Gweneida squirmed and eat little under the curious stares. But soon the others resumed conversation amongst themselves, and she relaxed. She was amazed by the easiness they had in each others presence. Even when they argued, which was often, nothing was mean spirited. It did not take her long to wish that she too belonged to such a family.  
  
While she was eating, two more dwarves wandered in. The first was a younger, but quieter, copy of Mrs. Terow. Her name was Isabelle. As well as being the daughter of Mrs. Terrow, she was a twin too the be- spectacled dwarf, who's name was Robert. Shortly after Isabelle started baking bread, Mr. Terrow burst in. He was even shorter than his wife, but stockier. His ruddy face sported a half-white half-blond beard. Robert took after him, just as his sister did their mother.  
  
While she ate, Jason tried to flirt with her. Instead of annoying her, as all the other flirts did, she found him vastly amusing. "You have the most beautiful eyes," he said with a wide grin.  
  
"So I have been told," Gweneida tried not to smile in return. "Many times. But usually it is said in poetry. I must say that I am disappointed in your lack of imagination."  
  
"You wound me," he put a hand on his heart letting his head fall over the back of the chair.  
  
Gweneida giggled. Soon the most enjoyable meal of her life ended. "Just a moment child," Mrs. Terrow whisked the plate and cup off the table. "Now tell us what brought you here."  
  
"Well it really started when I was born," Gweneida began softly. But it did not take her long to find release in the telling of her tale. No one interrupted the long recital, their eyes stayed focused on her the entire time. "So when I found your lovely home I couldn't resist myself. I am terribly sorry for imposing on your hospitality. I will leave as soon as it is convenient for you."  
  
"Nonsense," Gweneida turned to find her self looking into her own eyes. But those eyes belonged to a different face. "I didn't go through all the trouble of getting you here so you would leave as soon as you came," the speaker limped forward. He was the second smallest of all of them, but commanded the most respect. It could have been because he was ancient, with snow-white hair and lines that covered his face. Or it could have been his extreme lack of beauty. Never before had Gweneida seen such a horrifying vestige. But she suspected it was something more. It was the wisdom and pain that his eyes held, and the aura of power that his slight body contained.  
  
"Why did you bring me here?"  
  
"So I could teach you," he smiled. And although all of his teeth were black or missing, it still managed to transform his face into one much younger and happier.  
  
"Teach me what?"  
  
"To take my place."  
  
"Take your place doing what Cianailill?" Jason asked. "You can't mean that she is to be the next Ice Mage."  
  
"Oh, but I do," he answered, but his eyes stayed trained on Gweneida.  
  
"What is an Ice Mage?"  
  
"One of controls the cold and all of its elements."  
  
Gweneida's gaped. She tried to talk, but nothing came out. Once she had gotten her self together she managed to choke out, "You mean I am a witch?"  
  
"No...you most certainly are not! But when I am through with you, you will be a mage."  
  
"But I am not magical!" she squealed.  
  
"Yes you are. Come to my work room in an hours time," he wobbled out of the room. For several minutes after his departure, the room was silent. One by one six pairs of eyes drifted over to her.  
  
"Well in that case I think I should make you up a bed," Mrs. Terrow said. All of the others made similar excuses, but seemed to accept her staying with out doubt.  
  
"It will be nice to have such a pretty lady around," said Alice, the youngest of them all. "Will you share my room with me?"  
  
"Of coarse she will little sister," Jason scooped her up. "All of you girls sleep in the same room. Unfortunately, I do not share that room." with a wink he left the room, leaving Gweneida alone. 


	9. chapter 8

I have finally started the eighth chapter! It should be posted by the end of this week. Also, I have decided to make some minor adjustments to place this story in a medieval court like world I am making. Most of the changes will be in second chapter, but I doubt any will change the plot. I need a good name for the river. Does anyone have any ideas?  
  
Mistress Terrow had insisted Gweneida get the place of honor in the bed, the middle. It was at least two hand lengths smaller than the one at the castle, and it held five bodies instead of one. Instead of swan down, it was filled with hay. Gweneida had never been more comfortable.  
  
As a child Gweneida often remembered her dreams. Most were normal dreams. Short and random. But on a few occasions they had been special. Her earliest memory was one such dream. She had dreamt of the snow. Even though at her age, which could not have been more than two years old, she had never experienced it for herself, she had known what it was. Home.  
  
Since then Gweneida had dreams she knew were more than average. A few times they came real in following days. And on two occasions she awoke to find some object from her dream a reality. Once it was a dress she had ruined the previous day in better than new condition. A year later it had been a pet bird, which was much harder to explain to her nurse. Both times she was grateful for her odd ability. The first kept her out of trouble, and the second provided her with a friend for many years.  
  
It was not until nearly dawn that Gweneida had the dream. She had not had one since she was six or seven years old. Even so, the ten year lapse was null. Making no difference in her realization. The colors were too vivid and edges too sharp. She was in the castle, but only as an observer. Her father was a few feet off, and looked even more worried than usual. The lines across his brow were deeper than usual, and his figure more stopped. Beside him stood Micheal, whom waved away. Michael scuttled out of the room, his head down and his face ashen. I must get him out of there, Gweneida said though no one heard her voice, Once my dear step mother finds out I am alive, she will set her wrath onto him.  
  
Gweneida stored that decision away as Faenach glided in. Although she wore nothing more than her shift and a robe, it was obvious she had not been woken. Not only was her hair free of frizz or tangles, but her robe was un wrinkled. Unlike everyone else who looked disoriented and scared, her eyes were sharp and her smile serene.  
  
The crystalline dream became fuzzy, rearranged itself to show the forest. Even in her dream state, it comforted Gweneida and her tenseness eased. A slight movement caught her eye. She looked down to see Brendan sleeping on the forest floor.  
  
At the sight of his exhausted form, guilt assailed her. In her relief of finding the Dwarves' home, she had forgotten about sending Michael to warn him. Amazement that he had rode to exhaustion  
  
As if sensing her presence Brendan's eyes started to flutter open. Through sleep sated eyes he looked up at her and smiled. Gweneida opened her mouth to speak, but a loud banging stopped her. She turned around to find herself back in the cottage, sunlight just starting to enter through the window.  
  
Gweneida rolled out of the bed, ignoring the startled grumbles of the other occupants. With out breaking stride she grabbed her cloak and ran down the stairs slipping it on as she went. "Where are you going this early?" Mistress Terrow asked from the table.  
  
"There is someone out there that is looking for me," Gweneida skidded to a halt and did an about face. "I will be back as soon as I find him."  
  
"You can't go out this early! You will catch your death of chill."  
  
Despite her desperation Gweneida found herself smiling. "I assure you Madame, I will not catch a chill."  
  
"Oh…I see," she paused and chewed on her lip. "But still, you shouldn't go without something to eat."  
  
In reply Gweneida grabbed a loaf of bread and twirled back around.  
  
She had just opened the door when she heard footsteps behind her. With a small groan she looked behind her to see a sleepy eyed Jason followed by Cianailill. "What were you saying about Gweneida leaving?" the elder dwarf asked.  
  
"What?" Jason snapped awake in mid yawn. "She can't go out now. The sun isn't even out. Besides, isn't her stepmother trying to kill her? Seems like a good inclination to stay out of the woods if I ever heard one."  
  
Gweneida twirled a lock of her hair and hesitated, but kept her hand on the door. "Even so, I can't leave him out there looking for me indefinitely."  
  
"He who?" Jason emphasized each world, his posture deceptively relaxed.  
  
"Brendan. He is staying at the castle and is a friend of mine."  
  
"Ah, I see," Mistress Terrow smiled, gentling as she seeming to realize Gweneida's discomfort. "But I still think it is a bad idea."  
  
"But I can't just…"  
  
"You will not go out there," Cianailill spoke up.  
  
"How…"  
  
"You didn't let me finish," he cut in with a scowl darkening his already glum face. "You can not go, but someone else can go for you."  
  
Mistress Terrow frowned. "I don't know if that is such a good idea. Wouldn't it be dangerous to whomever?"  
  
"We can hardly leave the boy out there. And I doubt the queen will notice one of us in the woods," before any one could protest he turned to Jason. "You will go."  
  
With a slight raise of one shoulder, Jason nodded. "I suppose I can comply this time. Where is he?"  
  
"On the west side of the ??? near the Twisting Oak."  
  
Jason bowed and sauntered to the door. "I shall return shortly. But if during the call of duty I…" Cianilill shut the door in his face, muttering under his breath as he headed toward his workroom.  
  
Gweneida followed. It had not escaped her notice that he had known the precise location of Brendan and she wanted to find out why. Once inside Cainilill did not shut the door, proof that he knew of Gweneida's presence though he had not voiced his consent. He limped over to a chair and sat down. Instead of joining him, she leaned against the stone door, and heard it shut behind her as if in a different room. To keep herself from staring at him, Gweneida found her eyes wandering.  
  
The room was sparsely furnished. A large stone table was it's prominent feature, large and ornate. Atop it was a mirror, though it was not nearly as decorative as the ones Gweneida was used to at the castle. Behind the table was a wooden bookcase, turned gray with age. There were not many more than a dozen books, but all seemed ancient and fascinating with their worn covers and fading titles. On one side of the table there were two chairs. One was tall and made of the same stone as the table, atop it sat Cainilill. Beside its stateliness the wooden chair seemed shabby, though on it's own it was a work of art.  
  
Overall the small chamber had a feeling of familiar coolness that soon soothed Gweneida enough to take the other chair beside Cainaillil. "How did you know" she said in a clear tone that seemed to echo against the crystal walls.  
  
"Last night I saw him in the glass," he glanced toward the table where the mirror lay.  
  
Gweneida decided to question how he did so, but put that off for later." Alright, but you just left him out in the woods unprotected?  
  
"I couldn't go out into the woods in the idle of the night. Some things out there can harm even me,"  
  
An unfamiliar heat settled in Gweneida's stomach. Momentarily it unsettled her enough to withhold a response, but she pushed it aside for more pressing matters. "Which explains why you left someone much more helpless than you out there."  
  
"I did what I could from here. Besides the protection given by the ??? river, I sent several wards to keep him safe."  
  
Although Gweneida still felt unsatisfied, she could find no fault with his argument. She stood and started to pace the floor, each time she came to the window looking out.  
  
On the fifteenth or sixteenth lap she turned out of the room and back into the kitchen, decided action would pass the time more satisfactorily.  
  
When Brendan awoke he had the vague feeling of being watched, but not in the typical uneasy way which makes the back of your neck prickle and your hearing get acute. Rather, it was the feeling of your mother watching over you while you were asleep, or otherwise occupied.  
  
Consequently, Brendan washed with a soft smile on his face and much more confidence than when he fell asleep the previous night. Given his sense of hope, when footsteps sounded behind him Brendan's smile turned from soft to bright. But as the sound increased, the smile slipped. The rhythmic fall of feet did not match Gweneida's fleet but grounded walk, instead it was a much faster hitch kick.  
  
Brendan put his hand on his sword as the stranger walked out from behind a tree. "Well, I am sure glad I rushed over," said a smug masculine voice with a faint musical lilt of a Lanorian. When the man came close enough to reveal his face, Brendan loosened his grip. Although he was uncommonly beautiful, he was not threatening.  
  
"I apologize if I seem uncivil, but after the day I suffered, I can act no differently."  
  
"Apology accepted, I imagine you have been surely tried."  
  
While he was scrutinized by a pair of blue eyes Brendan dismounted. After a pat on Sunshine's shoulder he turned to the other man. When he saw no one he frowned in confusion, looking from side to side. A small cough drew his attention down. Much farther down than Brendan thought was his face.  
  
"Before you temp yourself to ask," he said with slight mockery. "My name is Jason."  
  
"Brendan," he answered. "May I enquire why you are here?"  
  
"I was sent to retrieve you."  
  
The feeling he woke with returned with a vengeance and with it a bright smile split his face. "Gweneida?"  
  
"In a roundabout way," although Jason did not twitch his entire form stiffened. His eyes looked Brendan up and down. After a timeless second he loosened, apparently accepting or approving.  
  
"Retrieve away," Brendan took Sunshine's bridle in hand and started in the direction Jason came from. When footsteps failed to sound behind him he turned back. "Which way?"  
  
At first Brendan feared Jason would refuse, but he nodded instead. Soon they were in the maze of trees with only the memory of the ??? left. The journey was silent and somewhat awkward. While Jason looked ahead, Brendan would sometimes observe him. He felt he was likewise watched. Although he could find no fault with him, and in many ways found him likable, Brendan could not shake off the feeling of slight unease.  
  
Although he knew their journey could not have taken more than an hour, it seemed and endless path of identical black trees. Finally, they arrived at a clearing, which had a cottage inside it. Two steps in a loud crash sounded from inside. It was followed by running footsteps, a door banging, and Gweneida flying out. Brendan met her halfway, scooping her up into a big hug.  
  
"You're here! I was so worried!" she managed to get out between gasps. "Are you alright?" stepping back she started to look him over.  
  
"Fine, I am fine Gweneida," he laughed.  
  
"Good," she smiled, and Brendan got his first good look at her. She was wearing a wrinkled and dirty dress, her hair was loose, and on her nose there was a smudge of flour. By the rules of court she should have been a disgrace, but she looked beautiful. A blush graced her cheeks where before they had been pale, while her eyes sparkled with newfound happiness.  
  
Before Brendan could comment on her changed appearance she ran over to Jason to give him a hug as well. A twinge of jealousy pierced him, but it receded when she stepped back much sooner than she had done with him. "Thank you so much for bringing him to me safe Jason!"  
  
"It was my pleasure," was his answer. It was said with practiced charm, and with a flawless bow to go with it. Seeing Jason look and act so much like a courtier made Brendan aware of his bedraggled appearance. He shifted, trying to hide the grass stain on his shirt from where he had slept.  
  
"Come inside, you must meet my rescuers," Gweneida grabbed Brendan's hand and headed back towards the cottage. Grateful for the distraction he nodded, eager for a warm meal and bed. 


End file.
